The Blind Barber

'He's stolen every damn shoe that was outside a door!' snorted another, who was sniffing after shoes up and down the passage like a terrier. 'Where's the captain? Who was II? Who—'

'Come on,' said Captain Valvick. 'Out on de deck and go round.'

They found a door forward, and plunged out on C deck — on the same deck and the same side that had seen the

hurricane of the night before. As before, it was dimly lighted, but this time peaceful. They paused and stared round, breathing cool air after the thick atmosphere inside. And Morgan, as he peered down a companion-way leading to D deck, came face to face with Mr. Charles Woodcock.;

Somebody swore, and then there was silence.

Mr. Woodcock was coming slowly and rather painfully up the steps. Aside from rumpled clothes, he was undamaged,' but every joint was cramped from his long trussing in torn sheets. His bush of hair waved in the breeze. He writhed his shoulders, cracking the knuckles of his hands; and on his bony face, as he looked up and saw who stood there, was an expression—

Morgan stared as he saw that look. He had expected] many things from the unfortunate bug-powder representative, triumph, threats, rumpled dignity swearing vengeance, i sinister joviality, at all events hostility. But here was an expression which puzzled him. Woodcock had stiffened. His tie was blown into his face and seemed to tickle his nose and terrify him like the brushing of a bat in the dark. His bony hand jerked. There was a silence but for seething water…

'So it's you again,' said Warren, and slapped the scimitar against his leg.

Woodcock recognised the voice. He glanced from Warren to Morgan.

'Listen!' he said, clearing his throat. 'Listen! Don't fly off the handle now. I want you to unnastand something… '

This looked inexplicably like retreat. As startled by Woodcock's appearance as he had evidently been by theirs, Morgan nevertheless cut in before Warren could speak again. i

'Well?' he demanded, and assumed by instinct an ominous tone. 'Well?'

The pale smile fluttered on Woodcock's face. 'What I wantcha to unnastand, old man,' he said, writhing his shoulders again and speaking very rapidly, 'is that I wasn't responsible for you being stuck in that brig, even if you think I was; honest to God I wasn't. Look, I'm not mad at you, even if you've hurt me so bad I'll maybe have to go hi the hospital. That's what you've done — but you can see I 'in not mad, can't you, old man? Maybe it was right for you lo lake a sock at me — from what you thought, I mean. I know how it is when you get mad. A guy can't help himself. But when I told you — you know, what I did tell you— it was absolutely in good faith… '

There was something so utterly suspicious and guilty-seeming about the man that even the Bermondsey Terror, who had evidently no idea what this was all about, took a step forward.

''Ere!' he said. 'Oo's this?'

'Come up here, Mr. Woodcock,' said Morgan quietly, lie jabbed his elbow into Warren's ribs to keep him quiet. 'You mean that you really didn't see that film stolen out of ('urt Warren's cabin, after all?'

'I did! I swear I did, old man!'

'Attempted blackmail, eh?' asked the Moorish warrior, who had opened his eyes wide and was fiddling with the scimitar.

'No! No! I tell you it was a mistake, and I can prove it. I mean, it may look like the man I saw isn't on board at all, hut he is! He's got to be. He must have been disguised im something… '

A dim suspicion that at last the Parcae had got tired of (angling things up for their particular crowd, and had begun on somebody else, began to grow hopefully in Morgan's mind.

'Let's hear your side of the story,' he said, playing a chance. 'Then we'll decide. What do you have to say about it?'

Woodcock came up to the deck. A scowl, of which neither of them probably knew the reason, had overspread the rather grim faces of large Valvick and even larger Bermondsey. Woodcock saw it, and veered like a sloop in ii windward breeze.

Clearing his throat, he set himself amiably for a hypnotic speech.

'So listen, old man. I did see that guy; word of honour. Hut after I talked to you to-day I said to myself, I said, 'Charley, that fellow Warren's a real white man, and he's promised to get the testimonial for you. And you're a man of your word, Charley,' I said,' lowering his voice, 'so you'll get the name of the man for him'…'

'You mean you didn't know who the man was?'

'Didn't I tell you I didn't know his name?' demanded Woodcock urgently. 'Think what I said! Remember what I said! And what I said was, I'd know him if I saw him again. And, damn it! he had to be on the boat, didn't he? So I thought I'd look around and find out who it was. Well, all the possible people were at meals to-day, and I looked, and he wasn't there! So I thought, 'What the hell?' and I began to get scared,' he swallowed hard; 'so I went to the purser, and described the man as somebody I wanted to meet. I couldn't miss him; I remembered everything, including a funny-looking ear and a strawberry mark on the fellow's cheek. And the purser said, 'Charley,' he said, 'there's nobody like that aboard.' And then I thought, 'Disguise!' But yet it couldn't have been anybody I'd already seen, because I'd have known 'em disguise or no disguise — shape of the face, no whiskers, all that.' He was growing unintelligible, but he rushed on. 'And then I heard you'd been put in the brig because the captain had accused you of making a false accusation about somebody; and I thought, 'O God, Charley, this is all your fault and he won't believe you really did see that.' When I got your note to come down, I thought you mightn't blame me after all; but as soon as you hit me — Listen, I'll make it up to you. I'm no crook, I swear… '

Good old Parcae! Morgan felt a rush of gratitude even for this small favour of averting charges of assault and battery, or whatever else might have occurred to Mr. Woodcock in a more rational moment.

'You hear what Mr. Woodcock says, Curt?' asked Morgan.

'I hear it,' Warren, in a curious tone. He smoothed at his whiskers and looked meditatively at the scimitar.

'And you're willing to admit the mistake,' pursued Morgan, 'and let bygones be bygones if Mr. Woodcock is? Righto! Of course Mr. Woodcock will realise from a busi-ncss point of view he no longer has any right to ask for that testimonial…'

'Hank, old man,' said Mr. Woodcock, with great earnestness, 'what I say is, To hell with the testimonial. And the bug-powder business too. This isn't my game, and I might as well admit it. I can sell things — there's not a better little spieler on the European route than Charley R. Woodcock, if I do say it myself — but for the big business side of it, ixnay. No soap. Through. But I'm entirely willing, old man, to give you all the help I can. You see I kept bumping myself against the wall down there in that cell until the sailor looked in; and finally I got the gag out of my mouth. Well, he released me and went off to find the captain. And I'd better tell you —'

From somewhere on the other side of the deck rose a shout. A door wheezed and slammed, and the clatter of feet rushed nearer.

'There he goes!' said a voice and, rising above it, they heard the view-halloo bellow of Captain Whistler.

'Don't run!' wheezed Valvick. 'Don't run, ay tell you, or you may run into him. Down de companion-ladder— 'ere! — all of you. Watch! Maybe dey don't see… '

As the distant din of pursuit grew, Valvick shoved the Moorish warrior down the steps and the Bermondsey Terror after him. The Bug-powder Boy, full of new terrors, tumbled down first. Crouching on the iron steps beside Valvick, Morgan thrust his head up to look along C deck. And he saw a rather impressive sight. He saw Uncle Jules.

Far up ahead, faint and yet discernible in the dim lights, Uncle Jules turned the corner round the forward bulkhead and moved majestically towards them. The breeze blew up his fringe of hair like a halo. His gait was intent, determined, even with a hint of stateliness; yet in it there were the cautious indications of one who suspects he is being followed. A lighted porthole attracted his attention. He moved towards it, so that his red, determined, screwed-up face showed leering against the fight. He stuck his head partly inside.

'Sh-h-h!' said Uncle Jules, lifting his finger to his lip.

'Eeee!' shrieked a feminine voice inside. 'Eeeeee!'